


Puppies and Kittens and Goats, Oh My

by turps



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:57:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: Porthos needs a job and gets one.Aka, a modern AU where Porthos works in an animal shelter, has a love/hate relationship with goats and finds new friends.





	Puppies and Kittens and Goats, Oh My

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/gifts).



> Thank you to my amazing beta who went above and beyond this time.
> 
> You're the best.
> 
> Bluflamingo, I hope you enjoy this.

It’s Athos that gets Porthos the job at the animal shelter.

Well, gets him an interview for the job at the shelter. In that Athos is the one who notices the handwritten advert in the shop window and then stands and just pointedly _looks_ until Porthos reads, then pulls out his phone.

Which, okay, whatever. Athos does deserve some credit, because, really, who the hell else ever reads those little cards? But Athos did -- does -- and now, a day and a five-minute rambling telephone call later, Porthos is about to have another interview.

And maybe this time he won’t lose any possibilities of a job within the first minute.

~*~*~*~

Porthos has had interviews in a few coffee shops before. Not often, but after nearly a year of chasing work there’s few places he hasn’t met potential employers. This coffee shop, though, feels different. There’s no fancy handwritten coffee code menu and no background music, and most notably, no tables filled with people using laptops, empty giant mugs pushed to one side.

Instead, the coffee shop feels cramped, cosy in a battered way, the man behind the counter nodding a greeting as Porthos enters and looks around.

“Are you here to meet Aramis?” the man asks, and before Porthos has had a chance to reply, he’s placing a piece of cake onto a plate which he shoves into Porthos’ hands. “Here, he’s in the back. Give that to him and if he’s not got that leg up, tell him I’m going to wallop his backside.”

“Erm, okay,” Porthos says. Thrown, he clutches the plate as the man turns his back and ignores Portos completely. “I’ll just. Okay….”

Considering how small the place seems to be, Porthos assumes the back must be the area around the side of the counter, something born out when Porthos turns the corner and sees a man slumped on a low leather couch, yellowing bruising apparent on his face and arms and one casted leg propped up on a cushion.

“Hi,” the man says, looking up with a grin as pushes himself up and reaches for the plate. “I’m Aramis. You must be Porthos, and I assume that’s for me.”

“Is is,” Porthos agrees, feeling clumsy as he attempts to hand over the cake while simultaneously shake Aramis’ hand. Something that was bound to end up in disaster and Porthos can almost hear Athos’ long-suffering sigh as he ends up doing some kind of hybrid fist bump/hand clasp that leads to Aramis’ grin widening even further.

“Cake and your own personal handshake, I’m honoured,” Aramis says, eyeing the cake as he sets it down on the table. “Sit, share some cake with me. This is the third piece Serge has sent today. I think he’s fattening me up.”

“It’s not a personal handshake.” Porthos sighs, wanting to kick himself for messing this up within moments. “I mean, it was a handshake, Athos reminded me to start with a firm handshake. He says it shows good character.”

“He has a point,” Aramis says, wincing as he shifts in place, obviously trying to get comfortable. “But personally, I always prefer a good fist bump.”

“Yeah?” It’s something Porthos can agree with, but he reminds himself that this actually is an interview and as much as it would be interesting to get into a fist bump vs handshake conversation, he really is here for a job. “Me too. But to start over. Hello, I’m Porthos. I’m here for the interview.”

“Well, hello, Porthos,” Aramis says, his eyes sparkling as he holds out his hand for a very proper and very firm handshake. “I’m Aramis. I’d get up, but they keep telling me I need to keep sitting down.”

“They’re right.” Not that Porthos is any kind of doctor, but just looking at Aramis suggests him standing would be a mistake. “You stay there, I’ll sit. But do you want me to get you a drink first?”

“Only if you’re willing to take me to the bathroom after,” Aramis says, smiling as he indicates the empty mug in front of him. “No, I’m fine. Serge’s kept me covered. The man’s made it his personal mission that I’m never hungry or thirsty.”

“Sounds good to me,” Porthos says, liking the idea of someone bringing him food always. “I’ve tried to train Athos to do the same. Athos my roommate that is, but he keeps telling me to piss off, stop being lazy and do it myself.”

“Harsh,” Aramis says, but he’s also smiling as he pushes the tips of his fingers under his cast, trying to scratch. “I’d say break your leg but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Yeah, no, I like my bones intact.” Fidgeting, and sure he’s talking too much, Porthos sits, feeling too hot and stuffy, the tie he’s wearing seeming too tight around his neck. 

“I don’t blame you,” Aramis says, giving a last itch before looking directly at Porthos. “You said you saw our ad. So tell me about yourself, and why you want the job.”

It’s a question Porthos could answer multiple ways, including telling lies about how he’s always been drawn to animals and has dedicated his life to their care. It’s what Porthos should do, tailoring his answer to get the best chance of being employed, but it’s something that doesn’t feel right, and Porthos decides to go for the truth. “Honestly, I need the money. My qualifications aren’t the best and the only experience I have is bar based work. But that scene wasn’t good for me and I needed to get away, so I’ve been unemployed for a while. Your advert said no experience was necessary and training could be given, so I thought it was worth applying.”

Aramis has sat back, hands on his lap, his attention totally on Porthos. “Do you even like animals? You’d be working with them a lot.”

Again, Porthos knows he’s should fudge the answer, but he can’t, not when Aramis is staring at him, as if he’s weighing up every word. “I don’t mind them. I didn’t have pets growing up and Athos has a personal no animal rule, so no real experience. But I can learn. I might not have many qualifications but I pick things up quickly.”

Aramis is still staring at Porthos, something that’s unnerving, but Porthos never looks away, not even when Aramis says, “You know I can’t pay much.”

“It’ll be more than I get now,” Porthos says, and even though he could really do with more money than what's on offer, his instincts are saying Aramis will be a good person to work for, even if he comes along with some animals. “And I’ve no other commitments, so can work when you need me.”

It’s all Porthos says, it’s pointless pushing any further, not when he’s been an idiot and told the truth. It doesn’t help that Aramis has continued to stare, evaluating in a way that leaves Porthos feeling exposed and sure that he’s about to be rejected again. 

“So, when can you start?”

It takes a moment for Porthos to catch on, then all he can say is, “You’re giving me the job? You haven’t even asked many questions.”

“I don’t need to, and yes, I am,” Aramis says, pushing himself up so he can hold out his hand. “Constance, she’s our office manager, is going to say I’m an idiot, and she might be right. But I like you and I’ve got final say, so. Consider yourself hired.”

All Porthos can do is grin and shake on the deal.

~*~*~*~

Pushing open the gate to the shelter, Porthos can’t help smiling. It’s been too long since he’s felt any sense of purpose and even longer since he worked during the day. At ease with the world, he whistles to himself, something tuneless as he strides across a courtyard, then stops, his eyes widening when a huge dog suddenly runs into view.

It’s one of the biggest dogs Porthos has ever seen, grey-furred and shaggy, its mouth wide open as it barks and abruptly changes direction -- running directly at Porthos.

“Good doggie. Wait. Stop!” Porthos holds up his hand but it’s too late, and he’s suddenly hit at chest height with two giant paws. Thrown off balance, Porthos waves his arms, trying for balance, but it’s inevitable he’s going down, and within moments he’s on his back on the ground, the giant dog lapping at his face.

“Pedro!” Through a veil of fur and a pink, slobbery tongue, Porthos sees a man run into view, holding a leash clipped to a dangling collar. “Pedro. Stop. Are you okay? Pedro, move.”

The man is ineffectively shoving at Pedro’s flank, but it seems Pedro has taken a liking to Porthos, not moving from his lap, even when Porthos manages to sit up. As first impressions go, it’s not one Porthos would have chosen, but despite the fact his trousers are now filthy and his face sticky with spit, he can’t help laughing as he pats Pedro’s side and says, “I’m fine, but if you could get him to move.”

“Sorry,” the man says, slipping the collar over Pedro’s neck. “I’m d’Artagnan, I was about to brush Pedro and he slipped his leash. You must be Porthos. Aramis said you were starting today.”

Still petting Pedro, Porthos smiles at d’Artagnan and offers his free hand. “Yeah, I’m Porthos. Do you work here, too?”

“Volunteer,” d’Artagnan says, gently urging Pedro to stand. “Usually I’m only here evenings and weekends, but after Aramis’ accident I’ve been helping out more when I can. Talking of, I’ll take you to meet him, he’s waiting.”

Free of Pedro’s weight, Porthos pushes himself to his feet, brushing at his clothes in a futile attempt to wipe them clean. Which obviously isn’t going to happen, and Porthos resigns himself to spending his first day looking like he’s taken a roll in the dust -- which, technically he has. 

Pedro between them, Porthos and d’Artagnan head toward the open door to the building that’s on the other side of the courtyard. Inside it’s dark and cool, a wheelchair stacked with folders pushed into a corner and a disorganised desk taking up a lot of the room. Bypassing the desk, d’Artagnan walks behind it to another open door, Pedro’s wagging tail taking out a cup of pens on the way.

“Aramis, Porthos is here,” d’Artagnan yells, then suddenly darts forward, Pedro running alongside him. “Aramis!”

Confused, Porthos looks into the next room, and sees that it’s got sliding doors that are pushed open allowing easy access to a yard and grassed area outside. But it’s not that that’s caught Porthos’ attention, it’s Aramis, who’s sitting on the hard ground, looking dazed, his two crutches lying beside him.

Without thinking Porthos is running forward too, pushing past d’Artagnan who’s having to deal with an excitable Pedro. Dropping to his knees, Porthos gently touches Aramis’ shoulder and says, “Are you okay? Should I call for an ambulance?”

“I’m fine,” Aramis states, blinking as he focuses on Porthos’ face and then down. “You’re all dusty, what happened?”

“And you’re collapsed on the ground and look like shit,” Porthos counters, reaching to pull his phone from his pocket. “You could be concussed.”

“I’m not,” Aramis says, waving away Porthos’ concern. “Believe me, I’d know. I just slipped a little.”

“Because you’re supposed to be using the wheelchair,” d’Artagnan says, only cringing a little at the look Aramis directs his way. “And as you won’t do that, at least wait until someone can walk with you.”

“Hobble with me you mean,” Aramis says with a sigh, and then, “I wanted to see the puppies, and then I heard a commotion from the front yard.”

“Yeah, that was me.” Sheepish, Porthos looks toward Pedro. “Pedro wanted to say hello and I fell for his charms.”

“He is rather charming,” Aramis says, looking fondly at Pedro. “Though I suspect he fell for your charms, too.”

“If falling for my charms means licking my face, yeah, he did,” Porthos says, enjoying the joke but also feeling a little off-balance at finding himself with saliva tightening his skin while on his knees next to his new boss.

“It’s how I show my affections.” Aramis grins directly at Porthos, then visibly winces, his hands going to his knee. “I should get up.”

“Not without help you won't.” Pedro’s leash tight in his hand, d’Artagnan holds it out towards Porthos. “If you’ll hold him I’ll help Aramis stand up.”

“Or you hold Pedro and I’ll help Aramis.” Porthos stands, instinct kicking in as he assesses the situation as he looks down at Aramis. “Are you hurt anywhere else before I grab hold?”

“Bruised ribs, stitches on his left side, healing abrasions and bruises everywhere.” It’s d’Artagnan that answers, unrepentant despite Aramis’ baleful look. “His leg’s the worst though, so be careful of that, otherwise haul him up under his armpits.”

“You make me sound like a sack of grain,” Aramis complains, but it’s a weak grumble and it’s all too obvious he’s in a lot of pain.

“Well, in that case, this will be easy, I can easily handle a sack of grain.” Despite his words, Porthos is hesitant as he bends and hooks his arms under Aramis’, worried that he’ll do more damage. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

“You won't,” Aramis says, and this close Porthos can see every detail of his face, including the shadows under his eyes and the creases that push out from the corners when Aramis manages a smile. “I’m okay, just do it.”

As sure of his hold as he ever will be, Porthos puts all of his strength into straightening, trying to ignore the pained sounds Aramis tries to repress and how his face has lost any colour. There’s also the issue that once Porthos has Aramis upright he’s unsure what to do next. Realising they should have got the wheelchair, or a chair, or anything really, Porthos does the only thing he can think of, and scoops Aramis up in his arms, holding him bridal style and cradled against his chest.

“Well, I didn’t expect that.” Aramis is still smiling, but he’s also pale, his hand shaking slightly when he grabs hold of Porthos’ arm. “d’Artagnan doesn’t lift me like this.”

“I could try next time, but I’d probably drop you,” d’Artagnan says, Pedro’s leash wrapped in his hand as he indicates the building on the other side of the courtyard. “There’s a couch in the adoption room, it’s good to nap on. Not that I’ve ever done that.”

“Or ever made out with Constance on there,” Aramis says, his voice pitched low as if sharing a secret, but not low enough that d’Artagnan won’t hear. “At least that’s what they say. The animals tell me otherwise.”

“The animals don’t know what they’re talking about,” d’Artagnan says, dignified as he leads the way. “We wouldn’t mess around at work.”

“But after work….” Aramis trails off, looking delighted at d’Artagnan’s huffed response. “But he’s right, it is a comfortable couch. And once I’m sitting down we can talk about your actual work.”

“You mean carrying you around isn’t part of my job description?” Despite the situation, and the fact he’s only known Aramis a matter of minutes, Porthos feels confident teasing. And is glad he did when Aramis laughs out loud, his pained expression swept away for a moment.

“Sadly no, but if you want extra credit I’m quite willing to let you bring me cups of coffee and things to eat,” Aramis says, and then, after a beat, “Oh, and puppies.”

“Puppies?” While Porthos is well aware he’s come to work in an animal shelter, he still can’t imagine that bringing Aramis puppies would be something he needs to do. That is, until he walks into the adoption room, and sees a large pen filled with multiple squirming and yapping puppies. On a second look it’s apparent there are two breeds and ages, some of the puppies little more than small white balls of fluff, looking tiny against the bigger ones with curly hair and bright eyes that are jumping up at the fence.

“Puppies,” Aramis says, biting back a groan when Porthos gently sets him down on the couch that’s pushed against the side of the room. “Once they’ve been health checked it’s easier to keep them together. That’ll be one of your jobs, feeding them and keeping the pen clean. And playing with them, too. Though strangely people seem to line up for that job.”

“I guess I could do that.” Once he’s safely settled, Porthos carefully eases up Aramis’ leg so it’s stretched out and propped on a cushion. “In-between bringing your coffee and food.”

“Good man,” Aramis says, head back and sounding exhausted as Porthos leans over the pen, waggling his fingers and laughing when one of the puppies jumps up and bites. “I think you’re going to fit in just fine. Even if you don’t like animals.”

“You don’t like animals?” Shocked, d’Artagnan stares at Porthos. “You know you’ve come to work in an animal shelter, right?”

“I know,” Porthos says, and then, “And I like animals just fine.”

And he does. Mostly. But even if he didn’t, Porthos suspects in this place he could learn.

~*~*~*~

“So what were you doing today?” Athos is stretched out in his easy chair, a half-full wine glass in one hand, the TV remote in his other. “Did you have to walk the goats again?”

“You’re obsessed with those goats, and no, I didn’t walk them today,” which Porthos is glad about, because he’s got a real love/hate thing going with those goats. In that he hates their stupid eyes and hard hooves and ridiculous beards, but somehow they love him. Too much at times. “And I’ve told you before, it wasn’t an official walk, they followed me.”

“Because you’re the goat whisperer,” Athos says, and makes no attempt to hide his amusement. “Obviously they recognise one of their own kind.”

“Or they recognise I hate them,” Porthos says, slapping a slice of bread on the top of his sandwich. “They stink and never shut up bleating and have you seen their scraggly beards?”

“Like I said, they recognise one of their own,” Athos says, grin barely hidden as he surfs through the channels. Stopping at a rerun of _Friends_ he watches for a few seconds before changing the channel yet again, “And how’s your damsel in distress?”

“You realise he’d take your head off if he heard you say that,” Porthos points out, not that he’s planning to introduce Athos and Aramis, because that way leads to sure embarrassment and disaster. “And after he did that, would check you over and dump a puppy in your lap.”

Athos frowns, hand still and remote held pointing at the tv. “I’d prefer a kitten. They don’t grow up into dogs.”

“Your knowledge of animals is amazing,” Porthos says, sliding his sandwich onto a plate before claiming his place on the couch. “Kittens don’t grow into dogs, what other amazing animal facts do you know?”

“I know you’re a jackass,” Athos says, taking a sip of his wine. “And that you’ve checked your phone at least twenty times since you got home.”

Porthos would protest, but the facts are, it’s true and he can’t help patting his phone where it’s tucked in his pocket. “Aramis says the piglets may be born tonight. Constance and d’Artagnan will be there, but if he needs help….”

“He’ll obviously call you first, being you’re an expert on pigs,” Athos says, abandoning his surfing session so he can direct all his attention to Porthos. “Or more likely, won’t need you at all considering the only things you know about pigs is they make for good bacon.”

“They do make good bacon,” Porthos says, trying to forget Penelope’s face and the way she snuffles at his feet when Porthos brings her feed. “And Aramis is fine, just frustrated it’ll be at least a month before he’ll be able to weight bear.”

“So we’re back to Aramis,” Athos says pointedly, and then, “But that’s good for you. The longer he’s off his feet the longer they’ll need you.”

Which is true, but even so, Porthos hates remembering how dejected Aramis looked when he came back from his hospital appointment. Not even the offer of puppies to hold cheering him up as Aramis wheeled himself back into the office and pointedly pushed shut the door. 

“Apparently the bones aren’t knitting as fast as they could.” Porthos takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing as he says, “Not surprising really, he must have taken a hell of a hit from that car.”

“I still think he shouldn’t have saved the dog,” Athos says, before falling silent, frowning as he eventually spits out. “Okay, fine. I would have done the same, just rolled out of the way faster.”

“Never said you wouldn’t,” Porthos points out, opening his mouth further to show more chewed up bread and meat when Athos rolls his eyes. “And he tried, but the car was going too fast.”

“Don’t they always.” Apparently done with the conversation, Athos goes back to surfing channels again, before he suddenly says, “If a car was going to hit your goat would you save it?”

“Goats,” Porthos corrects, because he looks after a group of stupid goats not just one. But even so, he says, “In an instant.”

And means it.

~*~*~*~

“People are coming to look at the puppies at midday,” Constance says. Leaning against the fence, she watches as Porthos hangs a new hay bag in the horse field and checks the water troughs. “I need to go out for feed, so can you handle any puppy wrangling? Aramis will deal with the interview and matching process.”

“No problem.” Scratching at his arms, which feel itchy from handling the hay, Porthos looks over his shoulder, checking the horses position. While he’s not nervous being around them like he was at first, they’re still big and Porthos would prefer not to be squashed between a horse and fence. “Consider me on Aramis wrangling duty, too.”

“I’d rather deal with a hundred puppies than that idiot,” Constance says fondly, and Porthos has to agree, he’s only been here a couple of weeks and already knows getting Aramis to actually rest is an almost impossible job. “Yesterday I caught him trying to climb the ladder to the loft. I about had a heart attack.”

It’s something that’s all too easy to imagine, and Porthos can’t help picturing Aramis getting half way before falling, and no doubt breaking more bones. “We need to fit a bell on him, or lock him in the puppy pen.”

“I vote for the bell, he’d try to climb out of the pen.” Constance half smiles, as if actually considering the idea, then says, “I’m glad that you’re here. I wasn’t sure at first, but you’ve helped a lot.”

“Wasn’t sure?” Now that he knows Constant a little, Porthos is positive her reaction would have gone well beyond not sure, and he grins when Constant looks his way, not looking guilty at all.

“Okay, fine. I told Aramis he was an idiot taking on someone who didn’t have experience or even like animals. But he said he liked you and thought you’d be a good fit, and you have been.” Arms crossed on the top of the fence, Constance looks relaxed, the breeze blowing her ponytail as she stares off into the distance. “I guess he can be right sometimes.”

As compliments go, it’s not big or gushing, but to Porthos it means everything, and he makes no attempt to hide his resulting smile. 

“But he’s still an idiot,” Constant says, but there’s no malice in her tone, just something that hints of a long steady friendship as she pushes herself upright and says decisively. “Right, I need to get going to the feed shop, and you’ve got mucking out to do.”

“I know,” Porthos says, long-suffering, mucking out the stables one of the boring jobs he tries to get done as fast as he can while still being thorough. “Tell d’Artagnan hello from me, I know he works next to the feed store.”

“Maybe he does.” Constance starts to walk, then stops, looking back with a wink. “And maybe he’s taking a long lunch, so don’t be surprised if I’m a little late back.”

“Got it,” Porthos says with a grin, and doesn’t even jump when a horse suddenly snorts in his ear.

Well, doesn’t jump much.

~*~*~*~

“I’m going to miss these guys.” Porthos is sitting in the middle of the puppy pen, laughing as the puppies scramble over his legs and one growls as it stalks his bootlace. “They’re cool, and okay, adorable.”

“All puppies are adorable, that’s the problem.” Aramis is sitting on the couch, leg propped up as always and a stack of files piled on his lap. “Then people fall in love, take one home and realise they’re actually a lot of hard work. It’s why we vet so carefully.”

“You’re not hard work are you, beautiful.” Porthos scoops up one of the tiny white puppies, the one he always calls Cupcake, tickling her on her warm soft belly. “You’re beautiful and fierce and you’re going to make someone fall in love with you.”

“I think she already has,” Aramis says, looking fond as he watches Porthos and Cupcake. “Sure you don’t want a dog?”

“Athos would go crazy.” It’s the excuse Porthos always makes, and mostly it’s the truth, except, before no way did Porthos want to take on a pet. It would have been too much responsibility, the thought of someone or something relying on him making him feel sick. But now. Porthos feels more grounded than he has for a long time, but that still doesn’t mean it’s time for a dog. 

“Shame, you were meant to have dogs.” Aramis is still staring, the files on his lap forgotten as he suddenly says, “You should bring him here sometime. Athos I mean, he’s obviously important to you. You’re always talking about him.”

Porthos brings Cupcake to his face, brushing her fur against his cheek, smiling as he smells her puppy breath. “He’s my best friend, and maybe. He’s not really an animal person.”

“Like you’re not an animal person,” Aramis says pointedly as Porthos falls on his back, laughing when he’s instantly attacked by all of the puppies. “But okay, if not here, bring him to the fundraiser we’re holding at the coffee shop. You know Serge makes excellent cake, and it’s for a good cause.”

“It is,” Porthos agrees, gently shaking his head when one of the puppies nibbles at his earlobe. And it is for a good cause, the best, because any profits from the fundraising event will come directly to the shelter. It’s just, Porthos doesn’t know if he’s ready to merge these two parts of his life. If he’s ready to show Athos just how important the animals, d’Artagnan, Constance, and especially Aramis have become in such a short space of time.

It’s why he says nothing more, just laughs and plays with the puppies, Aramis sitting and watching, never looking away.

~*~*~*~

“So what, you want to take me to a coffee and cake thing where I’ve got to buy my own cake and coffee, the draw being I can pet a dog.” Athos’ voice is muffled from where he’s talking from inside of the fridge, pulling out sandwich fillings which he piles on the bench. “What I want to know is, will the goats be there?”

“No they won’t,” Porthos says, already regretting the invitation. Not that he expects Athos to be mean, it’s just, he’s _Athos_ who always sees too much, and seems to have developed an unhealthy obsession with goats. “But yes, you’ll have to buy your own, that’s the whole point of fundraising, but Serge makes great cakes. You said that yourself.”

“I did like that strawberry one you brought back,” Athos concedes, closing the fridge so he can butter the doorsteps of bread which he’s already sliced. “And I’m guessing your damsel will be there.”

Porthos frowns as he takes the buttered slices and tops them with thick ham and cheese. “He’s not my damsel.”

“He’s your something,” Athos says, topping the half made sandwiches and picking one up, taking it to his usual seat without using a plate. “You’re always talking about him.”

“Funny, he said the same thing about you.” Copying Athos, Porthos takes his own sandwich and slumps on the couch. Resting the sandwich on his thigh, Porthos considers what Athos has just said, and has to acknowledge that he does talk about the shelter a lot, and especially Aramis. It’s just, Porthos really likes it there, and the more he gets to know Aramis, the more he likes him too. 

“Oh god, he doesn’t think we’re together does he?” Athos says, looking so horrified Porthos has to laugh. Especially so as he shares Athos’ horror, because, as much as Porthos loves him as a brother and friend, no way are they good together. Been there, done that once, and they’ve both vowed never to speak of that night again. 

“He knows you’re my roommate and best friend,” Porthos says, picking at his sandwich with his fingers, crumbs falling on his lap as he thinks about what Athos has just said. Because the thing is, Porthos has come to like Aramis: a lot. 

“Well, if he knows we’re nothing but friends and roommates, make a move,” Athos says, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “You’re single, apparently he’s single. What’s the issue?”

“Because he’s my boss. Because I don’t know if he even likes me like that.” Which, as reasons go, are huge and Porthos doesn’t understand how Athos can be so blase. “Yeah, we’re friends, but I can’t just make a move.”

“Why not?” Athos states, and then, “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could punch me in the face, hit me with his crutch and get Constance to bury me in the pig pen,” Porthos says, rubbing his face as he imagines the punch and no doubt matching slap from Constance. “Or sack me for sexual harassment.” Honestly, Porthos doesn’t know which would be worse, and he states. “Making a move is not going to happen.”

“Your loss,” Athos says, switching on the tv and preparing for yet another channel surfing session. But, before he does so he adds, “But everything you’ve told me about him suggests none of that would happen.”

“Maybe,” Porthos says, but even so, he’s not about to take the risk.

~*~*~*~

As fundraisers go, this one is going well. At least, Porthos thinks so. The coffee shop is filled with people with many more spilling outside, where the animals up for adoption are being kept in the shade. 

Behind the counter, Serge is in his element, serving cake and coffees with a scowl that doesn’t quite hide his pride each time his baking is praised. 

Porthos has been tasked with watching the animals, and he’s spent the last few hours ensuring they’re all cool with plenty of water and food. And that the people who crowd around to pet them do so carefully without any jostling. 

“You’re a natural at this.” Aramis is sitting on a padded chair that’s been taken from inside, his leg propped on a stool cushioned with a pillow. Positioned behind the pens, he can keep an eye on the animals while basking in the sun, and Porthos likes how relaxed he’s appeared as he talks to potential adopters while stroking the long-haired rabbit he’s got on his lap. “The animals love you, and people do too.”

“I like talking to people,” Porthos says, Cupcake tucked in the crook of his arm as he watches two young children gently stroke a small tabby. “And I guess the animals, too.”

“Yeah, right, you love them, even the goats.” Aramis grins wide, waving away Porthos’ long-suffering sigh. “Don’t even. I’ve seen you talk to them.”

“I was telling them I’d make them into goat burgers if they tried to eat my coat again,” Porthos says, tickling Cupcake’s ear and putting her back in with the other puppies when he sees Aramis shift in place. “You look uncomfortable. Hold on.”

Without another word, Porthos approaches Aramis, easily taking hold of his arms and helping him stand, providing support.

“Thanks,” Aramis says, unselfconsciously resting his weight against Porthos and trusting his hold as he slowly lifts his leg off the stool so he can stand on one foot. It’s a position that means they’re both pressed together and Porthos enjoys the moment, even if he hates the reason he’s needed. “I feel like a flamingo.”

“You do look good in pink, but you need feathers to be a flamingo, I’ll have to get you a hat with one stuck in,” Porthos says, still holding on tight. Together, they stand, watching the crowd, and Porthos hasn’t felt as good in a long time, standing in the warm sunshine knowing he’s got a job that he loves and new friends and Aramis tucked by his side. Which of course, is when Athos appears.

“Porthos, and you must be Aramis.” Despite his knowing look, Athos is nothing but charm as he approaches, glancing at the puppies and kittens as he does so. “Quite the gathering you’ve got here. Porthos lured me in with the offer of cake.”

“Which you’ll pay for yourself,” Porthos says pointedly, still steadying Aramis as he holds out his hand to shake.

“Hi, and you have to be Athos. Porthos said you were thinking of dropping in. “Aramis smiles, seemingly genuinely happy to meet Athos as he grasps his hand, swaying slightly when he does so. “Sorry, I’m not that steady on my feet yet.”

“Foot,” Porthos corrects, eyeing Aramis and taking in how he’s paled slightly. “And you’ve been standing long enough. Sit down, before you fall down.”

“I’m your boss, I’m supposed to give you orders,” Aramis says, but he still sits, putting up no resistance when Porthos helps him lift up his leg and ensures the cushion is in the perfect position. 

“Does that feel okay?” Portos asks, paying no attention to the way Athos is watching, his gaze going from Porthos to Aramis.

“As okay as it can right now.” Aramis sighs, then rests his hand on Porthos’ forearm, squeezing when he says, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Porthos says, unable to resist momentarily resting his hand on Aramis’, feeling the warmth of his skin along with the strength of his grip. 

“I was promised cake.” It’s Athos who breaks the moment, digging his wallet out of pocket and pulling out a note. “What do you both want? And yes, Porthos, obviously I’m paying.”

“I haven’t had a chocolate tart for at least an hour,” Aramis says, but when Athos starts to move, grabs hold of the hem of his t-shirt. “Wait, let Porthos go. You need to meet the animals. Especially Cupcake, she’s Porthos’ favourite.”

“Really?” Athos says, raising an eyebrow at Porthos. “I thought it was someone else. But I’d love to meet them. That is, if Porthos doesn’t mind leaving us here.”

Porthos’ immediate reaction is, yes, he does mind. The last thing he wants is to leave Athos and Aramis alone, but at the same time, he does trust Athos completely. And they’re going to be cooing over rabbits, puppies and kittens, it’s not like anything terrible could happen in the few minutes Porthos will be gone.

Even so, it’s with reluctance that Porthos takes the money and walks away, his feeling of apprehension not helped in slightest when he looks back and sees them both watching him go.

Which is okay, is fine, Porthos isn’t worried at all.

~*~*~*~

“So, Athos told me some things when you were gone at the fundraiser.” After so much practice, Aramis can walk on his crutches almost as fast as Porthos without. Even so, Porthos insures they take a route over steady ground as they head for the stables.

In the distance, they can see d’Artagnan being pulled along by Pedro, while Constance watches, not even attempting to hide her laughter. For a long time Porthos watches them all, too nervous to ask what Athos has actually said. But, as much as he doesn’t want to know, he can’t help saying, “I hope it was all good.”

“It was,” Aramis reassures, smiling his thanks when Porthos instinctively reaches out, his hand close to Aramis’ back when they have to climb a slight bank. “He told me quite the interesting stories. I didn’t realise you were such a gambler.”

“That’s all in the past.” And okay, it was an interesting past that Porthos doesn’t regret -- well mostly, but it’s still a time in his life he doesn’t want to revisit. Still, Aramis has remained silent, and Porthos hears himself saying. “I was a different person back then. I needed money and gambling was an easy way to get it. Problem is, as easy as it is to make money, it’s just as easy to lose it.”

“Which is when you ended up living with Athos?” Aramis says, and Porthos shakes his head, because while Aramis is mostly right, there’s still a chunk of history missing.

“Not at first. I hit bottom for a while, ended up sleeping rough. Then I met Athos.” Porthos thinks back to that time, when he felt alone and worthless, sure he’d never be happy again. “I slept near a club he attended, he gave me money one night and we started talking. And never stopped.”

As histories go it’s a short one, condensing years and harsh battles for both Porthos and Athos. But those stories are for another time, not now when it’s so warm and sunny, the horses grazing in the field in front of them, and Porthos satisfied after a good days work. One that comes along with the knowledge that nearly all of the puppies and kittens are about to go to their forever homes within a few days, even if the thought of Cupcake going breaks Porthos’ heart.

“He’s a good friend,” Aramis says, slowing now they’re approaching the stables.

“He is,” Porthos agrees, and slows too, matching Aramis’ pace easily as they head for the wooden bench next to the stalls. “Annoying sometimes, and he’s got this new thing about the goats. But mostly, yeah, he’s good.”

“He never mentioned the goats,” Aramis says, sounding delighted with that detail. “I’ll have to send him that photo of them eating your bandana.”

“You’ve got his phone number?” That Porthos didn’t know, and while he’s pleased Aramis and Athos are getting on, he’s still a little apprehensive about what Athos has been saying. “But yeah, send the photo, mock my pain caused by those goatey bastards.”

“They love you too.” Aramis grins, wide and sunny as he sits and pulls out his phone, his crutches dropped to the ground as he quickly types out a message that he sends within seconds. “There, sent.”

“Traitor.” Porthos mock frowns as he hurries into the stable and comes out with a crate, setting it down in front of Aramis. “Foot up.”

“You know there’s a chance I’ll be able to weight bear next week,” Aramis says, but still rests his foot on the crate, looking relieved when he does so. “I’m hoping for one of those sexy moon boots.”

“And if the doctor clears you for that I’ll stop bringing you boxes,” Porthos says, squashing himself on the small amount of bench left next to Aramis, always careful not to jostle his leg. “Until then, suck it up.”

“Suck it up, that’s how you talk to your boss?” Aramis says, sounding amused, then, unexpectedly rests against Porthos, his hair tickling Porthos’ shoulder as they sit side by side, listening to the faint sound of laughter. Almost drifting off in the warmth, Porthos starts when Aramis suddenly says, “Thank you.”

“For getting the crate? It’s nothing,” Porthos says, unmoving as he enjoys the weight of Aramis resting against his side. 

“For more than that.” Aramis is still looking forward, but he rests his hand on Porthos’ knee and says, “For doing as much as you do, and always staying beyond your paid hours, for looking after me and being a good friend. I’m glad you saw the advert I put up in the shop.”

“Actually, it was Athos who saw it,” Porthos says, and adds his own silent thanks that Athos looked in that shop window at the right time. “He also made me call.”

“Well, I need to thank him, too.” Aramis falls silent again, which is nice, Porthos enjoying feeling so close as the sun slowly sinks in the sky. But it’s also weird, because Aramis is never this quiet.

Concerned, Porthos turns, looking at Aramis’ face and asks, “Are you okay? You’re not hurting are you? I knew we shouldn’t have walked for so long.”

“We walked for all of five minutes,” Aramis points out, and then, “No I’m not hurting, I’m trying to think of a way to ask you out.”

“You’re what?” It’s the last thing Porthos expected to hear, so unexpected that all he can is look and slowly say, “You mean on a date?”

“I mean on a date,” Aramis repeats, utterly serious. “You don’t have to say yes, and you’re welcome to slap me if I’m crossing a line, but Athos suggested you wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”

“Did he really?” Porthos is torn between wanting to grab hold of Athos and call him a meddling idiot and grabbing hold of him and giving him a kiss to say thank you. But mostly it’s the second, even if Porthos has been thrown off balance and given something he never knew was his for the taking. 

“Obviously he got it wrong.” Aramis drops his hand, reaching for his crutches. “I’m sorry, forget this ever happened.”

“Not going to happen.” Reacting on instinct, Porthos puts his foot on the crutches, stopping Aramis from picking them up. Which may be mean but Porthos has never been afraid to fight dirty, especially when it means stopping Aramis running -- or hobbling -- away. “We’ve got a date to arrange and a kiss to enjoy.”

“A kiss, aren’t you being a bit presumptuous?” Aramis asks, but he’s also smiling, his hand back on Porthos’ knee, holding on as he tilts back his head. “But if you feel it’s needed.”

“I do,” Porthos states solumely, and to the background of Pedro barking, leans in for a kiss.

~*~*~*~

And yes, okay. Despite Athos’ no pet rule, Porthos does eventually adopt Cupcake.

How could he not? And it’s not like Athos can object, it is his idea after all.


End file.
